After getting some dinner at Busker Browns in Galway, we hung around hoping to take in some traditional Irish music. Our place of interest was just around the corner at Tig Coili a place supposedly known for its nightly sessions. After hanging out on the street corner across from it, we worked our way into the crowded interior and found a ledge to put our drinks (my first Murphy's in Ireland and a coke for dad). Shortly after, a trio began playing, using a guitar, banjo and drum. It sounded nice, though we both agreed afterwards that it was very hard to hear due to the craic (conversation) going on.
Afterwards, we went back to our b&b in Salt Hill, a nice little red bricked home run by a gracious host named Catherine and her husband Paddy. It was quiet inside when we returned and our beds were quite welcoming after a long day of walking. We turned on the television to find a show covering English Premier league soccer, which was something we had seen in a lot of the bars in Galway. It wasn't long though before I was out for the count.
The next morning we were treated to an Irish breakfast, which included eggs, ham, sausage, toast, fruit and cereal. We told Catherine about our decision to visit the Aran Islands, which would end up being a full day affair. She sold us two tickets to the ferry and it wasn't too long before we were on our way.
The trip from Salt Hill to the ferry to Rossaveel was scenic, given the ocean to our left. We did notice that the "sea was angry that day, my friends, like an old man returning soup at a deli", to quote George Costanza. White caps filled the dark water that we were about to venture out on.
Approaching the ferry in Rossaveel ("Ros a mil" in Gaelic, I believe), my dad asked, "Aran Islands?" to a man standing outside of the entrance to the boat. "No, this is Ros a mil" he responded. There was a long pause before he said, "but we're going to the Aran Islands". I really don't think humor was his intent, but it was pretty funny.
Accompanying us on the the ferry, was a large group of kids that looked to be high school aged. They all spoke what I took to be Irish/Gaelic, but I wasn't sure. A woman that appeared to be their teacher walked around to each of the different rows of seats, where we and the students sat and pointed a video camera at them saying, "Do you have any last words before we take this treacherous voyage?" She spoke with an American accent and wore a hat that had "Minnesota" printed on it. "No" was their answer, as they seemed embarrassed or annoyed by her question. I was hoping to hear more so that I could hear their accent, but no such luck. Later on she answered their questions in the language that they were speaking. I wished that I had asked her where they were from and how she got involved with them.
Treacherous the sea was, as several passengers became pretty sea sick upon a very rocky path to shore. My dad passed me a blue plastic bag and said, "Just in case". Thanks dad, I hope you didn't jinx me. :-) There were a few of the ship's crew members that had these bags stuffed in their pants and were handing them out liberally and there were a few students that used them liberally.
We made it ashore without spilling our guts, though we didn't expect the high winds that nearly blew us onto the island (thanks goodness it was a tail wind) as we walked on the dock. We saw tour buses and decided to jump on the first one we saw, given the weather we were experiencing. Rain has started to come down to accompany the windy day.
Our tiny tour bus was an eclectic group, consisting of a young French couple, a young Japanese woman from Rome, with her mother from Japan, a polish family with a lone english speaker in their daughter, and a man from north of Seattle who was celebrating his 65th birthday in style with a trip to Ireland. They were all friendly people that conversed with my dad and me in what english they knew.
We barely were able to see out of the tiny rain-soaked windows of our bus as the driver/guide delivered the history of sites that we passed by through a microphone that seemed to work intermittently. The young polish woman sitting next to me translated to her family members from the back of the bus. We found that our guide not only spoke english and gaelic/Irish, but also spoke some Italian as we encountered a cyclist/tourist that he recognized the accent of. Smiles filled the van when he spoke to him.
The sites consisted mainly of old churches, cemeteries and thatch-roofed homes. It wasn't spectacular see, but there was definitely a stark beauty coming from this island. It seemed to be a place that time has forgotten, despite an educated and thriving culture.
The highlight of the trip was a hike up to the fort Dun Aonghasa, a three-walled ruin that had its beginnings as far back as 1500 BC. The hike gave us a substantial view of the island and a awe-inspiring view of the ocean from dangerously high and unguarded cliffs. I crept tentatively to the edge of some of these to get better pictures, but with the winds howling, I didn't want to get to close. :-)
Afterwards my dad and took down some vegetable soup with brown bread from one of the local eateries, then treated ourselves at the same spot to slices of butterscotch and chocolate malt cake. There was a small painting in the little house that we ate in that seemed to be an abstract rendering of a down town area. It took me a little while to realize that one of the places in the painting was Tig Coili, a place that was probably only 10 miles from where we sat, but seemed so far away.
That night we stopped for some dinner at "Twelve" a restaurant recommended by Catherine and enjoyed a nice meal. Afterwards, my dad turned in and I decided to try a run to Galway and back, which would only be 4-5 miles. The wind was absolutely howling as I ran along the bay, so much in fact, that I felt like I was running 6 minute miles with an amazing tail wind. There were points during the run where I was sprayed with water from the bay, the water was so active. My trip back had me doing 10 minute miles as I battled against that same wind that had gone tail to head.
After another full Irish breakfast and some goodbyes to Catherine, a host who we enjoyed very much, we started to make our way to Dingle, which stood 6-8 hours away. Catherine expressed hopes that Obama would be our next president and we agreed with her. We had been listening to 89.0, which appears to be Irish Public Radio, and it seems that we've been hearing the same sentiment and interest in our election. It seems they feel that their government has screwed up their economy like a lot of Americans feel about ours. There's definitely a push to move more towards a socialist style.
The trip to Dingle took us through the Burren, a rock-filled, hilly land sprinkled with many quaint towns. We drove along side ocean for much of the trip, which has been a delight, especially when we came to the Cliffs of Moher, a spectacular site which could easily compete with parts of Highway 1 in California. They have a unique visitor center which is inside the base of a hill right next to the cliffs. Inside they have a lot of exhibits detailing the geology and wildlife that are around the cliffs and burren.
And that leads me to the end of this post as we have arrived in Dingle, a neat little town with gorgeous scenery surrounding it. In the next few days I'll be looking forward to biking, hiking, traditional Irish music and perhaps some golf. We'll have three nights at the greenmount house a beauty of a B&B with awesome views of the town and bay.
Our group
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